


Gods and Men

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cousin Incest, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Oral Sex, Period-Typical Homophobia, Porn with Feelings, Power Dynamics, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 08:01:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19786657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: Jon, the bastard prince from King's Landing, travels North and meets the heir to Winterfell.





	Gods and Men

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, so I know it's been _ages_ since I last posted anything for this fandom, I'm sorry. This was written for a request I got on tumblr asking for Targ!Jon/Robb, approximately... two months ago? Hopefully, the requester actually sees it!

Winterfell is unfamiliar to Jon, the cold snows that seem to span eternity in front of his carriage utterly unlike anything he's seen in the capitol. He did know, he was taught, that in the North it snows even in the summer, but even if he knew the fact, he never really felt it was possible.

Strange as the place is, Jon feels something homely as soon as he arrives, the crisp air soothing his dragon blood. _Perhaps my mother had a point about the Starks of Winterfell,_ he thinks.

He has not seen his uncle's family since he was a small child, he does not remember any of them well. It is the first time he has ever travelled alone, ambassador for the royal household making good with their furthest vassals – awkwardly shuffled out of the way so as not to offend the Dornish host when they travel north for the grandchildren's wedding. His father did look apologetic when he told him, and Rhaenys promised to write him all the details, but Jon couldn't bring himself to be surprised. He's used to such things.

The Starks are all perfectly pleasant and gracious to their royal guests, despite how rare an occasion his visit is. Aegon tried to frighten him with tales of how Northerners were all savage barbarians, practically wildlings and probably part White Walker too, and Jon just rolled his eyes. _If they are those things, I am too,_ he thought, but didn't say it aloud. His uncle is quiet, but his mother used to say he was always like that. Lady Stark is beautiful, slim and fit even with five babes to her name. Their children are mostly just that, children, although they do seem a cute bunch, especially the little girl in boy's clothes.

But the one who catches his eye is the firstborn, the son and heir, Robb Stark, named for the man who almost tore Jon's father from the throne. They are the same age, more or less. _He's taller than me,_ Jon can't help noticing. Robb Stark is tall and broad, muscled like a maiden's dream; Jon can tell that even beneath his thick Northern cloak. But his face is all boyish innocence and charm. He takes after his Tully mother, river blue eyes and hair like autumn leaves. He is _warm_. Jon can feel that radiating off him.

Robb's hand engulfs his own as they're introduced. “Prince Jon,” he says, a small smile escaping from his lordly mask. “It's good to see you, cousin,” he says, like they know each other at all.

Jon forgets to breathe a second. _Yes, there is something about these Starks indeed._

* * *

They share dinner in Winterfell's Great Hall. It is dim and smoky, but the tables seem to extend on into forever; it is not so different from what Jon is familiar with, not really.

Robb is by his side most of the evening, either because he wants to reassure Jon, or because he too finds these occasions disconcerting and unfamiliar, who can say? Of course, as heir to Winterfell he has some duties to attend to – mostly, the daughters of North's noble houses keep insisting he dance with them.

“They all want to marry you,” Jon concludes after Robb returns to his side after a dance with the Karstark girl.

Robb looks bashful. Jon probably wouldn't have been so direct if he weren't already in his cups, and he feels a little guilty. “Can you blame them?” Robb asks. “We Northerners don't tend to wed outsiders. I'm the best match any of these girls are going to make.”

Jon nods. _But you have done, once or twice._ He's sure Robb knows that, and that he needs to wed a girl of proper Northern stock, dilute his own southron blood. Jon can relate. Aegon and Rhaenys, they've been marked for each other since birth, and so the lords of the Crownlands all target him as the ideal husband for their daughters. Of course, Father wants him to marry his aunt Daenerys, a year his junior, and tie the two branches of the family together. Jon likes her, really he does, and sees the logic that wedding her would solidify his claim, should he ever come to the throne. But he hates the thought of marrying whoever he is supposed to. But it's not as if he knows anyone he'd prefer.

He thinks of Aegon and Rhaenys, who must be celebrating the nuptials at a feast much like this, but grander. He hopes their marriage works out well – better than Father's parents, or either of Father's. He hopes they have children, and that Rhaenys has more luck bearing babes than her mother or grandmother. He hopes desperately the throne never passes to him. He doesn't want to be king, and he knows half the realm would never accept him, have never thought him anything but a glorified bastard. Viserys would definitely rise against him, in that case. And if Jon really is a bastard, he would be the rightful king. He sighs. He should have been born a girl and wed his uncle; it would have made things much simpler.

“What about you?” he asks, before he descends too far into his own brooding. “Do you have a preference among them?”

Robb hesitates a moment. “Ah, no.” But his eye does flicker to someone. The Greyjoy boy, his father's ward. _Huh_. “But that's for the best, right? I can do my duty without worry.”

“Quite,” says Jon, calmly, while his mind races a million miles.

_He prefers men,_ he thinks. _What of it?_ he asks himself. He barely knows his cousin; what business is it of his who Robb Stark may or may not want to fuck? Is he going to fuck him?

_Well, I could_.

Jon turns pink. No, he's being absurd. Does _he_ like men? _Perhaps_ , whispers a voice at the back of his head who's always found good company among the stable boys, who's watched Ser Jaime of his father's Kingsguard train in the midday sun, who's never been brave enough to risk putting a foot out of line, when his position is so precarious to start with.

_He's your cousin,_ and Jon digs his nails into his thigh not to laugh aloud. What, he is a Targaryen. Is that really meant to dissuade him?

He sneaks another glance at Robb from across the table. He knows it's wrong. But suddenly he wants him, more than anything he can remember.

* * *

Robb invites him for a walk in the castle godswood. They've gotten close over the week or two Jon has been here, and everyone has noticed. At least Lady Stark seems pleased. Jon doesn't think she cares for him particularly, but she does remember that the Starks rose up against the Targaryens once, and barely escaped losing everything for it. She wants to ingratiate them with the royal family as much as possible. Jon wouldn't be surprised if she broached the subject of marrying her eldest daughter to him, and he genuinely does not know what he would do if she did.

He likes Winterfell, but he likes it best when he and Robb get to be alone. Robb is, in many ways, simple. He is the heir to the North, and he wants to do his best by everyone. Jon admires him. And being with him makes everything else much simpler.

“Why did you invite me here?” he asks as they trudge along, snow crunching beneath his feet. He shouldn't. He should just appreciate Robb for what he is. But raised in the viper's nest of King's Landing, a certain degree of cynicism is never far from his mind.

Robb gives him a puzzled look. It's rather charming on him. “Because I like you.”

And Jon, to whom it does not come naturally, can't help breaking into a great big smile. “I like you too.”

They come to a stop. Jon sees a red shadow fall everything, and looks up to see the sun shining through crimson leaves of a giant tree. “This is the Heart Tree,” Robb explains. “The core of Winterfell. It's where the Old Gods watch over us. It's where our ancestors–”

Jon kisses him.

He steals Robb's words halfway through, swallows them into a soft, surprised moan. Robb seems startled, but kisses back as best he can. Robb is taller than him, his shoulders broad and wide, but he bows his head supplicantly. _This isn't like me._ Jon is usually always looking over his shoulder, watching for whoever might be watching him, but in this great empty godswood, he feels like they can be alone.

Except for the gods, he supposes, but somehow he feels like they would understand.

Robb pulls away first, his face pink with cold. “Your grace,” he whispers, suddenly sounding much younger. “I – I can't – I mean, I want to – but I'm heir to Winterfell, you're my prince, we can't – if our families knew–”

Jon raises hand to stop him. _You're my prince._ Robb says it so easily, and Jon feels a heat pool down south in him. He's been a prince since the day he was born, but he's never felt like one. He eyes his cousin carefully, sees the conflict in his eyes. _He wants it. He wants me._ And Jon wants him too. He wants to be wanted. And for once, he wants to get what he wants.

“I am your prince,” he says. “And do you seek to defy me?”

For a second, he worries. Has he pushed too far? He wants Robb, but he would never force anything upon him. He refuses to be that person.

But then Robb breaks into a grin, and Jon feels like he can see the weight come off his shoulders. “No, your grace.” And Jon understands then. Robb has always been the heir to Winterfell, the one on whom this whole vast land depends. There aren't many people who can command him to anything, and he is intrigued by one of the few. “What would you have of me?”

Jon swallows hard, knowing this is still, at heart, a very bad idea, but he can hardly turn back now.

“On your knees.”

Robb's pupils widen almost comically, but he scrambles into the position, looks up at Jon like a dog begging for a treat. They both know what he wants. Jon threads both hands through Robb's auburn locks and pulls him close, letting his cousin tug and fumble at the laces of his breeches, thick fur cloak shuffling atop his muscled shoulders.

They don't speak much throughout, Jon simply moaning as Robb's lips wrap around his length, breath whisping through the air like smoke. He looks down. Robb has his eyes closed in bliss, sets a pace to make Jon's knees shake, taking him down until he chokes. He's clumsy, hands slipping and teeth grazing more than once, but he's eager, desperate even. He pulls off and licks along the underside, suckles the liquid from the tip, before moving up to take Jon's balls in his mouth. He moves like a man who's thought of doing this a thousand times, but never has before, and isn't sure he ever will again.

Jon holds on tight and lets him do as he will. “That's it. Very good, my lord.” When he listens to his voice on the icy winds, he sounds like a true prince. A king even.

Robb moans and swallows him whole again, clearly losing himself in the sensation. Jon does too, reaching his peak without a shameful thought, or indeed a single thought at all, in his head. Robb swallows his seed and then spends on the ground himself, and it is such a relief, Jon can feel the weight lifted off his shoulders too – a weight he never even knew he was carrying.

When Robb looks up at him again, he feels not like a king or prince, but a god. A dragon, even. “Jon,” Robb says, and kisses his hip. “I've wanted to do that since I first saw you.”

Jon nods. “Me too.” There is no reason to lie. For once, they are both everything and nothing they're meant to be.


End file.
